


Somebody That I Used To Know

by amathela



Category: Marvel 616, X-Men (Comicverse)
Genre: Ex Sex, F/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-03
Updated: 2014-04-03
Packaged: 2018-01-18 00:59:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1409149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amathela/pseuds/amathela
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Emma messes with Scott. Both of them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Somebody That I Used To Know

**Author's Note:**

  * For [piratemoggy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/piratemoggy/gifts).



> Set during Uncanny X-Men v.3 (aka. the current run).

Emma pauses at the balcony. Scott - the younger version, halting, uncertain, still in love with Jean; not _her_ Scott, or at least not entirely - is there, leaning over the rail, looking so much like the real thing she almost has to take a moment to collect herself. And then she clears her throat, leans over, and says, "It's completely natural, you know."

He jumps a little as he turns around, trying to seem calm, composed. It's like looking at an old photo, disconcerting and a little comical, and she tells herself it doesn't get to her. "What is?" he asks.

She smiles, which, judging from his expression, it isn't particularly comforting. It isn't meant to be. "The fantasies you've been having about me."

"I -" he stammers, his face turning red. She always did know how to push his buttons. Will know. Whatever. "Could you not - Jean already …"

"Who said I read your mind?" she asks, arching an eyebrow. "You were staring at me all through debriefing. It doesn't take a telepath to work out why." Besides, she learned what that particular expression of his meant a long time ago, though it looks different on a face unlined, unweathered. Unbroken.

He blushes even redder, if that's possible, until Emma's almost certain his cheeks are going to end up matching his visor. Her Scott isn't easy to get a rise out of, not any more, but this doesn't even feel like a challenge.

Which isn't to say she isn't enjoying herself.

"I was thinking," he says, putting on a good effort at the steely exterior his older version has almost mastered. The visor makes it easier, she thinks, but she knows how to read the set of his jaw, the curve of his lips.

"About?" she asks, more suggestively than she needs to, running a hand up his forearm. This time, he does jump.

"Um," he says. "Things. Mission. Things. I need to, um."

He disappears at practically a run down the balcony and out of sight, and Emma can't help the smile that's threatening to turn into laughter. She's fairly certain this Scott is even more fun than the older one.

Or, well, not quite. Not in every way. But enough to keep her amused, for know, and god knows they could all use a little amusement.

-

Scott – the real one, this time – finds her later, after she's considered and discarded what food remains in their makeshift kitchen and decided to go to bed hungry. They need some proper food, or at least a shopping trip where the teenagers aren't invited. Pop Tarts, she thinks, are so far along the scale in the opposite direction from food that they might as well be wall hangings. At least that might brighten up the place. It could use some brightening. They probably all could.

"Emma," he says, leaning close to her, but carefully not too close, every millimetre likely as calculated by him as it is painfully obvious to her. "Could you not torment … well, me?"

She grins, turning a little, enough so she can see him in her peripheral vision. "But it's so easy."

"Exactly," he says, his voice a shade more amused than he probably means it to be. "I thought you liked more of a challenge."

"Do I?" she asks, turning towards him fully, looking him straight in the eye. When she had her full powers, she used to swear she could almost see them.

He falters, then; only for a fraction of a second, but she notices, just like he has to have noticed the extra inch of space she closed between them, like she noticed that he didn't move back when she did. "You used to."

"I used to do a lot of things," she says.

"I remember."

She wonders if she's imagining the hint of suggestion in his voice, if her powers are still glitching the way they did at first, if she's projecting onto him. If he can feel what she feels.

"Do you," she says, and it's not quite a question.

"Find a harder target," is all he says, and then he's gone.

Emma reaches for a pop tart.

-

Her powers still glitch if she makes them, it turns out. During a particularly boring meeting, Scott flinches when she sends him an image, a scantily clad redhead in an alluring pose.

Both Scotts, which isn't actually what she intended.

"Emma," he says afterwards, as his younger version attempts to slip out without looking at Jean. she wonders if he knows where the image came from, and feels vaguely guilty; she's not sure he's old enough to have seen something quite like that. 

"You didn't appreciate it?" she asks, dragging a fingernail across the back of his hand. He doesn't pull away, but he does stiffen ever so slightly, as if holding himself in check. From what, even Emma can't tell.

"That was completely inappropriate," he says, which doesn't quite answer her question.

"You used to like it," she says, and thinks it probably hurts her as much as it does him.

"I used to do a lot of things," he says, and there's an edge to his voice. Dangerous.

Emma pushes. Danger, she can handle.

"I remember," she says, drawing closer. Scott doesn't step away. "Seems the past is coming back a lot these days."

"Some things should stay there," he says.

"And others?" she asks.

She isn't used to being taken by surprise, but Scott does, kissing her before she knows it's coming. He pushes her, hard, against the edge of the table, and she bites down, feeling the rumble deep in Scott's throat against her lips. He kisses her harder, almost punishingly, and she wonders if it's her or himself that he's punishing; probably both, she reasons, but it isn't as if neither of them deserve it.

As he bites at her neck, she slips her hand under his costume, her fingers easily finding the clasp even after months apart, even without his thoughts in the back of her head guiding her to the right spot. It bothers her, still, that she misses that, and she pushes the thought away, concentrates instead on what Scott's hands are doing inside her own costume, peeling way thin layers until his skin is on hers, and then _inside_ her, and she cries out, not caring if it means he won.

Scott groans, deep and low, as he pushes into her again, and Emma wraps her hand around his neck, bracing as he rocks against her so hard it feels like he's about to dislodge the table from the centre of the room. Which would be quite a feat, considering everything in here is medical-grade facilities. She can't help but laugh.

"Is this funny?" Scott asks. Pants. Doesn't stop. She might have to hurt him if he did.

She gasps, clings harder to the table as he hits the spot she's almost forgotten existed (and she makes a mental note to take more time for herself). "Isn't it?" she asks.

Scott smiles, then, and he almost looks like he did months ago, back before the world went to crap. (The latest time.) And then he thrusts _hard_ , and she misses what he says next.

"This doesn't change anything," he's saying when her ears stop ringing, looking about as wrecked as she feels. "Between us."

She can't help feeling she missed something important, a moment ago, but she doesn't ask. "It never has," she says instead, and knows that she's lying. It's just how they work.

She leaves him to dress himself. Undressing is the fun part, but getting those uniforms back on again is tedious. (It's only part of why she's never worn one.)

-

The next image she sends to the younger Scott isn't an accident, and it isn't an image, exactly; more like an impression, vague but vibrant, and he jumps away from the table as if it's going to bite him.

Emma smiles.

"What did you do this time?" Scott asks her later. She wonders if he'd be able to meet her eyes, if he could.

"I have no idea what you mean," she says.

"Emma."

"You might have to ask me again," she says. "In private. Jog my memory."

She walk away without looking over her shoulder.

(For some things, she doesn't need telepathy.)


End file.
